“I’m not sure I could pee on Kacy-ji’s face if she was stung by a jellyfish” – one of my students (note the honorific)

I love my students. They make me laugh, they keep me in check, they teach me, they support me, and they do all of these things for each other as well. Sometimes I think of our group as a sports team or as a band. I wonder what we would be called. I was sick in bed for almost the whole of last week – with a viral fever. There is nothing like being alone all day, day after day, and being bedridden to make one feel sorry for one’s self. There was plenty of time to make long mental lists of all of things to be grateful for and to look forward to. I missed home (Sage), and for the first time all year (and perhaps quite a bit longer) I missed my physical home: Point Reyes. Of course I have missed friends and family during that time, but suddenly I longed to go there. Here in the middle Himalayas, I felt very lucky to have so many caring people around me. One morning there was an anonymous note on my door that said, “feel better, Kacy-ji.” In addition to the wonderful people already here, my good friend Purvi came for a visit and a guest lecture. I had not seen her since I was last in Gujarat in May 2009. Over the years since then, as many of you know, I have wondered why of all the places in the world, I ended up in Gujarat. I haven’t wanted to go back. For a long time I have only been able to remember the challenges and discomforts. But here was another sign of how things have changed for me over the past year of being abroad. Spending time with Purvi (realizing that I still understand Gujarati!), with my dear friend Keith, and with my lovely students as they experience it all (rural India) for the first time, is definitely changing my relationship with India. I want to come back, and I think I’m even ready to return to Gujarat. Of course, I have no idea of the when or how of it. But being ready and interested is certainly a big step. Tonight we celebrated Deepa’s birthday by singing and dancing, eating and sitting around the fire. As I went into my cabin at the end of the night a couple of students walked by and said, “god, it keeps getting better”. Several of the students joke about taking a road trip to Middlebury to sit in on my classes and to meet Sage (who they can tell is absolutely amazing because of the way I talk about her). As the end of the program grows near, I am beginning to brainstorm about how I will get to come back to see my friends, to be in this incredible place again, to go back to Gujarat, and to finally fulfill some promises from my dissertation research. My dream is for the next job I get after Middlebury to be one that allows me to set up my own study abroad program with Keith in the Himalayas!

Kungsleden

Sleep! That´s Where I´m a Viking.

I couldn't very well come to Norway without venturing into the far north, above the arctic circle. It's long been a dream of mine to hike the King's Trail in Lappland, Sweden, so I've traveled up here to the land of the midnight sun. On my way to the hiking trail, I've spent a few days kicking around the Lofoten Islands.

This area is famed for it's cod and herring fishery, still producing more salt cod than anywhere else. The cod migrate south from the Barents Sea and congregate here to spawn in the wintertime. They are caught by large and small fishing vessels and dried on racks on land in vast numbers. Most of the dried fish are taken down in June, but there are still some hanging on the sides of people's houses now.

 

The Norwegian government devolves much of the authority for managing the fishing stocks to the local communities here- with a fair amount of success. Still, its a hard life to be a fisherman and there are many abandoned villages along the Lofotens. In the summertime, the old fishermen's cabins are largely turned over to artists and tourists. With good reason: it is stunningly beautiful here. These islands are fierce, moss covered rocks rising up out of the north sea- their peaks capped with snow and wreathed with fog. Deep fjords carve into the land mass, and tiny, brightly colored houses cling to the shoreline beneath the cliffs. It must be a very unforgiving place in the winter time, but it sure is scenic.

 

Some of the largest and oldest ruins of Viking longhouses have been found on these islands. The warm Gulf Stream and the North Atlantic Current bring not only fish, but also a slightly more temperate climate- mild enough for a certain amount of agriculture, anyhow. The tall, blond Vikings lived here contemporaneously with the indigenous Sami people who still herd reindeer further inland in Finnmark, the region where Norway, Sweden, and Finland meet (and where I am headed next). It must have been from these islands that Viking ships sailed west toward Greenland, and eventually Newfoundland.

The Norwegians are quietly battling it out with Russia, Japan, the US, and Canada for both fishing and oil and mineral extraction rights in the Arctic Ocean and Barents Sea which were once more reliably covered with ice year round. Now that the Polar Ice Cap is melting, the possibility for resource extraction in this area has many nations vying to prove just how far their continental shelf extends north. Soon the volume of oil and gas extracted from these seas may rival the number of fish. And we might just get a Northwest Passage after all.

*the title of this post is one of my favorite quotes from The Simpsons. Ralph Wiggum is probably saying that he often dreams that he's a Viking, though I think it could also be interpreted that sleep is something he excels at.

Location:Finnesveien,Kabelvåg,Norway

On The Road Again

I've spent the last week hiking in Rondane, Norway's oldest National Park. The mountains here are bare and rounded, covered with lichen and rock. It is the habitat of Reindeer and Musk Ox and lemmings. The playwright Ibsen loved to walk in Rondane, and every other trail or hut is named Peer Gynt. The weather has been lousy, rainy and foggy and cold, but I slept every night in warm, cosy huts, and ate three course meals cooked by the staff there. The Norwegians didn't seem to mind the weather. They geared up and hiked out into the fog and drizzle every morning, filling the huts at night. Next stop: Trondheim.



As much as I hated to leave the farm, I am glad to be traveling again. Being on the move has a certain addictive charm. The momentum itself keeps you going. From one meal to the bus or train to the next place to sleep. At some moments every change, every new thing, feels jarring. Nothing is familiar. Every day brings something different. But there is so much monotony, too, in travel: waiting an hour for the next bus, sitting on the train as the countryside rolls by, reading by the fire waiting for dinner hour. At times like these it's easy to forget how strange and wonderful it is to set out every day doing something you have never done before. What a gift it can be not to know what will happen from one day to the next.



Also, there's something wonderful about moving through the world like a wide-eyed five year old. Everything is suddenly new and I have no idea how the simplest things work. I can spend a half hour figuring out how to turn on the tap in the bathroom and feel accomplished when I finally get it. The simplest things become mysterious again, and the details of everyday existence take on new meaning. Of course, here in Europe, I don't have to remain a clueless child forever. Unlike traveling alone in Thailand, or India, the customs and signage are slightly more approachable. If I put my mind to it, I will eventually figure it out. And it's virtually guaranteed that someone nearby speaks English at least passably.



I do feel bad, of course, for being the stupid American who only speaks one language. I always think if I could have a superpower I'd love to be a polyglot. That said, there is something so wonderful about not understanding the babble around me. I don't have to be subjected to the inanity of other people's conversations. I can sit there with my own thoughts (fairly inane themselves, but at least mine), while background words blur into noise. Or I can look at other people and make up the conversations they might be having- making them as eloquent or as lewd as I prefer. The two men ahead of me on the bus this afternoon were having a lively conversation about pigs balls, or at least that's what it sounded like to me.



Of course, it is possible to be alone too much. You can easily go a tiny bit crazy if you've had too much time alone with your thoughts, particularly if you've been walking for hours through the rain and the mud in the mountains. On the train this afternoon, I found myself having a furious internal dialogue with the man in the row behind me who kept blowing his nose every few minutes with gusto. The sound itself was annoying and I also felt sure he would destroy his sinuses with the force of his blows. But I told myself not to get annoyed with him- it was hardly his fault that he had a cold. Then I began to feel annoyed that he was spreading his sickness through the stuffy air of the train compartment. I began to actually feel as if I was getting sick myself. I was furious with myself for letting myself be annoyed with him. I worked myself up into quite a fluster. When I finally turned around to get a look at the fellow, I realized that the noise I had been hearing actually came from the automatic sliding door- opening and closing as people came through the train compartment. I spent the rest of the train journey staring out the window, feeling very foolish indeed.

98 degrees at 11pm in Delhi or the scents of the monsoon season

I’m back in the middle Himalayas of India, with my good friend Keith and a new group of fabulous students. As some of you know, I accepted a one-year position as Visiting Assistant Professor of Geography at Middlebury College in Vermont, just before leaving Delhi for the hills. Now that it’s certain that Sage and I will be there together for the year I am over the moon. I get to teach two of my favorite courses the first semester and to create two exciting courses for the second semester. I may even develop a short course for January about comic books and street art! Over the past few weeks, I have begun to reflect back on this time we spent traveling the world. I am filled with memories and stories and am delighted to have 13 curious and interested students to share these stories and photos with. After so many months of travel there are tons of photos I haven’t even had a chance to look back at. This time in India with Sage off in Norway is shaping up to be a time of reflection, of planning and of diligent work towards the next job application cycle and the start of my new job – in addition to the work I’m doing here. I’m enjoying getting to see what it’s like to follow Sage’s adventures through our blog. Last night the rains came. I woke up to the first true rains of the monsoon season. I put my head out the window to breathe in the scents of downpour on parched earth. This morning it is clear that the land will need many more of these downpours to get back to a healthy state. When we arrived with the students, we were warned to take special care in the amount of water we use; the springs and rivers are at their lowest in years. There are now estimates that the monsoon rains will be 30% below average, but today it keeps coming. A few weeks back we experienced pre-monsoon heat in Delhi. I can honestly say that for the first time in my life 98 degrees felt pleasant (after a day of 110+). When we arrived in the hills we stepped out of the cars to the most soothing temperature, a refreshing breeze and smoky, but very pleasant air. Before our arrival forest fires had been raging in the surrounding areas, and residents went out to fight the spread of the fires. We could still see the forests smoldering as we arrived. My memories of monsoon season in Gujarat – in the city of Ahmedabad – are of asking then pleading fifteen different rickshaw drivers to take me back to my host family’s house before one finally agreed; of slipping in the calf deep waters and looking up to find a crowd of young men giggling and watching; of the most delicious frozen mango treat I could ever imagine served in a little clay pot; and of the dirtiest water I have ever seen flooding the streets in every direction. I am delighted to be back at Sonapani with Deepa, Ashish, Vanya, Aru, another group of top notch students and Keith and Chicu. It feels so right to have started this year in India and to be ending it here as well. My students' first band photo. Only our lone male student is missing (he's taking the picture).

The Coldest Winter I Ever Spent Was A Summer in Norway

After all that talk of not knowing when or where we'd be coming home to, we are suddenly returning to the US, job and schedule in hand. How quickly things can change. Kacy landed a one year teaching gig at Middlebury College in Vermont. I had a brief flirtation with a job in California that didn't materialize. Now it just remains to leave Europe behind, get the car and the cat across the country, and hunker down for the Vermont winter.

In preparation, I've been spending the summer in Norway. For the last month I've been living and working at a small dairy farm in the middle of Norway, on the edge of the Finnish FOrest. Helen and Hans have welcomed me into their home, fed me potatoes and moose, and taught me how to make cheese and butter and sour cream. We have plowed up potato plants with a horse, hung hay to dry on fences, chopped down small trees by hand, and pulled innumerable weekds from the fields. Not to mention milking the cows, feeding the pigs and chickens, and mucking out the cow shed. Their home is warm and welcoming and Helen is a dedicated and forgiving teacher.

The hay must be hung up to dry because it's far from certain that the sun will shine long enough to dry it on the ground. They can't use round-bailed silage here because it freezes solid in the wintertime. Of course, when the sun IS shinging, it stays up far into the night. At 10pm here, the light resembles a sunny August afternoon around 4pm in Seattle. Getting up to pee in the middle of the night can be a disorientating experience.

(This photo was taken at midnight. Can you see the moon?)

It's remarkable how much I'm reminded of Maine here. The summer growing season is brief and fecund. The days are long, the sun shines with a purpose, and the rain, when it comes, is thick and heavy in the air. Everyone seems to have a little cabin on a lake in the woods that they use in the summertime. The forests are filled with blueberry bushes (though sadly it is not yet the season). The most popular non-fiction book in Norway right now is a manual on how best to prepare and store firewood. When I went on a hike earlier I found myself following a trail of freshly laid moose poop.

This area is called the Finnish Forest, though it is on the border with Sweden and far from Finland. When times were tough in the past, Norway saw quite a lot of immigration from Finland. Many of the Fins settled in this area because the forests reminded them of home. Now many of Norways newest immigrants are coming from Iceland, though the newspapers seem to be most concerned about a 'Muslim Invasion.'

July 22nd will mark the one year anniversary of the massacre at a Democratic youth camp here in Norway last summer. I had been looking forward to seeing the memorial services, but managed to mangle up my travel planning. I'll be in northern Sweden hiking on that day. Apparently the streets of Oslo were so filled with people carrying roses in the days after the massacre, that the whole city had to shut down. My hosts here tell me that there will be large events all over the country this year. They are very proud of how their country came together to deal with the crisis.
I've been pretty impressed with this country so far too.